All In A Day's Work
by Sarai87
Summary: One man. One PTB. One Martin. Wood. This bizarre work of fiction is an S/J story as always but with a significant twist. Written for the Woohooos over on Gateworld, in honour of the man that brought us the ship. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**All in a Day's Work**

**A Martin Wood Fic**

**-b****y Sarai-**

**Series:** Gap between S7 and S8 with spoilers for these episodes.

**Disclaimer:**I don't own anything! If I did I'd be a lot richer than I am. Probably.

**Pairings:** S/J (as always!). With a little Martin/Siler…not buyin' it eh?

**Warnings:**Some naughty naughty words.

**A/N:** This bizarre work of fiction is dedicated to Jumble over on the S/J thread at Gateworld on **Martinmas**, a very special day dedicated to Martin Wood. Not only is Jumble mahoo(d)sive fan of all things Wood, she was also recently in a very serious accident. So, Jumbly, this is for you with love and best wishes. Get back on your feet soon.

To the rest of you, this fic is based around Martin Wood; the one, the only, ultimate TPTB shipper. And clearly, it has a strong S/J theme throughout. But 'how' I hear you ask? Read on dear friends…

Many thanks to **Josiane **for betaing, many commas and semi-colons would have gone astray if tweren't for her!

* * *

**Prologue: **

The studio heat was intense, despite the high ceiling and partial air conditioning. Perhaps because the day was unnaturally hot in Vancouver; a heat wave settling like a blanket over the city and its studio lots. Huge 400 watt flood lights lit the stage for the final scene of Stargate SG-1 Season Seven. Behind the lights, wires tangled like snakes down the wall, bombarding the electrical circuit. At the entrance to one of the heavy duty electrical sockets an errant wire snagged on the wall, unnoticed. The heat coupled with the heightened moisture in the room from the crew and cast and the power on the circuit, seemed to be more than the faulty wire could bear. A spark ignited, falling on to the other wires. It started a chain reaction, melting menacingly through plastic casing.

The light at the end of the circuit shone on, illuminating the scene for filming, with none aware of the danger close by.

**Chapter One:**

"Aaaaaaand Cut!"

Martin sprang up from his chair, clapping his hands together as he watched his two leading actors descend into giggles. He rolled his eyes.

"Check the gate. That's a wrap on Season Seven!" He threw his arms in the air as everyone cheered and Peter Deluise shook his hand thoroughly.

Martin's beaming smile faded as he noticed Brad Wright, his friend, colleague and co-creator of the franchise. The older man jerked his head towards the door, tight-lipped, and they made their way through the sea of celebrating cast and crew.

Outside on the lot, Brad and Martin found a secluded spot for their discussion. Brad sighed, shaking his head at his friends questioning look.

"They really didn't go for it?" Martin was incredulous.

Brad took a breath before answering, "It's an expensive show for them Martin, and you know they aren't sure about its viability without Rick on board."

"I know but-"

Brad shook his head sadly, cutting him off, "They still haven't made their final decision. And we still have the storylines pitch on Monday to help secure a deal for both Rick and the studio."

"The storylines pitch" Martin glanced upwards as Brad nodded.

"No pressure then."

* * *

The young director wandered through a now deserted set. The cast and crew were no doubt getting ready for the huge wrap party tonight. They'd left everything exactly as it was during photography, kind of the like the last day of term where all of the boring stuff was left for tomorrow.

Sighing, Martin drank in the magnificent stage. This had been one of the most expensive sets of that current season; the icy cavern where the writers had left Colonel O'Neill seemingly to his doom, with his 2IC Major Carter and teammates Daniel Jackson and Teal'c watching in horror as he was placed in stasis. It was a great episode, and they'd already written the conclusion; the first episodes of Season 8. Only it was a bitch getting the green light on that one.

The main issue was money. The show was popular, but it was hellishly expensive to make, and the studio was no longer convinced of the need for the expenditure. The other problem being the shows lead actor, Richard Dean Anderson. Rick wanted to spend more time with his daughter and would only stay for one more series, although even that was pushing it. He hadn't actually signed up yet and wouldn't until he saw a good exit strategy for the character, not wanting to piss off the fans any more than they already would be. He was a good man, Rick. Still, Martin couldn't help wishing he'd sign already.

The director meandered around the stage in a daze, fiddling with equipment and pondering his time on SG-1. He supposed the new project, Atlantis, would be fun, but not the same; never the same. Rounding a corner, artificially created by the jagged intersection of two spare 'cave' pieces leaning against a wall, Martin didn't notice the danger at his feet. Some inept crew member had left one section of heavy wiring not taped down, according to the correct safety procedures. Martin hooked his foot through it, tripping and throwing out his hand to catch anything on the way down. It connected with an electrical socket, a length of sharp wire poking out of the top. The wire was clearly faulty. Sparks showered again as the socket, still imbued with residual electricity, sent a jolt into Martin's body. He went down with a shout as pain plunged him into darkness.

* * *

Head pounding like a bass drum, Martin slowly opened his eyes. Everything was out of focus and the ringing in his ears nearly blocked out the steady beep of the heart monitor. Hushed voices murmured in his ears, and with a huge effort he raised his index finger. The effort tired him out. His eyelids drooped once more.

Slowly Martin opened his eyes again. The voices remained; only when he raised his finger he found he could move the rest of his hand as well. _Good, still working_. This time when he blinked, things were a little more in focus, although the glare of a white light blinded him a little. He couldn't help but remember every quote about a white light from TV and film and chuckled, which turned into a cough.

A face appeared in his vision. The woman, or at least he hoped she was, was smiling kindly at him. She wore a white coat, that much he could tell, and it took his addled mind a few moments to realise she must be a doctor.

Screwing his eyes shut and blinking a few times, everything sharpened into a much better focus. The doctor was young and dark-haired. She shone a light in his eyes a couple of times, asked him his name and birthday before smiling again and moving off. He raised his head, watching her, and noticed the other people in the room.

Rick stood there. And Amanda and Dan. Even Torri Higginson was there. _Bizarre_, he thought.

Rick and Amanda approached him, smiling faintly.

"How're you doin'?" Rick asked him with some concern, glancing at Amanda.

Martin raised a hand to his head. "Apart from a headache the size of Canada, you mean?" Rick raised his eyebrow, Martin could only assume at his unfamiliar snippyness. He sighed.

"Really, I'm ok." He looked around. "What the hell happened?"

Rick stepped back, gesturing to Dan. The wily stunt man stepped forward with a grimace.

"Loose electrical wire on one of the mains lighting units. You got fried. What have I said about those units?!" he hissed vehemently and Martin blinked.

"Sorry Dan. I didn't think the stage lighting fell under your jurisdiction!" The pounding in his head made him snappier.

"Well it do-…Wait did you just call me 'Dan'?" He looked from Martin over to Rick and back again, confusion written on his face. Martin frowned.

"Uh. Yeah. Since its your name and all".

The four were silent for a moment before Amanda stepped forward.

"Wood, what's my name?"

_Wood?_ "Uh, Amanda Tapping!" They stared at him. He pointed to Rick then Torri, raising his voice angrily.

"That's Richard Dean Anderson and that's Torri Higg-…" They were silent, glancing at each other with worry etched over their faces. Martin threw his hands up furiously. "Come on you guys, quit fucking around! It's not funny. I'm the one who got knocked out for Pete's sake!"

He missed Rick's wince.

Amanda leaned in a little. "Major Wood, you've suffered a massive concussion. It's only natural for you to experience some memory loss. My name is Major Samantha Carter." She spoke slowly, as if to a child, pointing across at Dan, "This is Sergeant Siler. And this," she gestured to her right, "is General Jack O'Neill." She paused, "of the U.S. Air Force."

Martin laughed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. They'd all gone mad. Or he was dreaming. Looking around at them he met their worried stares with his confused one. It was then he noticed the room. The SGC infirmary.

He laughed again, smacking his head angrily with his hand until O'Neill, Rick, whoever he was, caught his wrist.

"Major!" He waited until he had Martin's full attention. "This will stop. Now. You are Major Martin Wood of the U.S. Air Force and Stargate Command. You're a good officer. You just took a big knock. Take it easy ok?" He turned to walk out, looking back over his shoulder and smiling, "And then get back to work."

Amanda and Torri followed him from the room, smiling sadly at Dan. He looked down at his friend. Martin choked.

"Seriously Dan, quit it now. Tell me what's going on." Dan remained silent, pulling up a chair to sit down by the bed.

Martin laid his head back against the pillow breathing heavily. Rolling over he shut out the room and Dan, praying that when he woke up everything would be different.

* * *

**A/N:** Intéressant no?! All will become clear soon enough. And I promise the S/J theme will rear its magical head at some point very soon. Please review, every time you do it's like saying "I believe in fairies"; I come back to life!... Just kidding, but please, reviews are good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Previously:**

_Martin laid his head back against the pillow__, breathing heavily. Rolling over he shut out the room and Dan, praying that when he woke up everything would be different. _

**Chapter Two:**

As Martin opened his eyes, it took a moment to register exactly where he was. The SGC infirmary. On set. Vancouver.

Except the open door opposite his bed actually let out to a large storage area where the crew sometimes sat on quick breaks, rather than a long, very familiar corridor. The design people could have added in that corridor without him realising it right? _Not considering there's a solid brick wall about 12 feet away_, the sensible part of him added.

His eyelids were heavy, making him appear a little punch-drunk, but he was determined not to go back to sleep.

"What happened?" He spoke to the ceiling.

"You're awake again!" A voice answered as Dan…_Siler_…raised his head to look over at his friend. "Loose electrical wiring on the main lighting rig in the Gate Room. I told you," he repeated.

"It was a rhetorical question."

Martin blinked, not sure if this was Dan or 'Siler', and feeling the imminent guilt that follows snapping at one of your fellows. He tried to take on a softer tone, despite the continued pounding of his head.

"You're still wearing your cost-…fatigues." He figured he'd try a more subtle way of finding out which goddamn reality he was in. Apparently his guest hadn't noticed. "Well technically I'm still on shift, but I asked Colonel," he paused shaking his head, "_General_ O'Neill specifically if I could stay down here, check you were ok, since he saw what happened. You took a pretty big shot you know!"

Did he actually sound _impressed_?! Martin rolled his eyes, huffing. "Right!"

He was clearly still wrapped up in some dream. With a huge amount of effort and pain on his part, Martin swung his bare legs out of the bed and stood up. He swayed violently, putting out his hand to steady himself as the world did acrobatics around him. _Yeah_, it was hard to believe _this_ wasn't real. Siler hurried around the end of the bed to steady him.

"Wood, you really shouldn't be out of bed."

Martin knocked his hand away, taking an agonizing step forward.

"Look, if you're not going to listen to me, I'm gonna get back to work. The gate overview won't finish itself." The stocky sergeant turned to stalk out of the infirmary.

Something stirred in Martin's sore head. He turned sharply, wincing. "Wait!" Reaching out tentatively, he tried to apologise with a smile. "Dan-…Siler…whatever. I'm sorry. Do you think I could come with you?" The sergeant hesitated. Martin rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm sorry for having a go. If your head hurt as much as mine right now you'd be lashing out at the nearest person too." Siler frowned. "I feel fine. Really!"

The sergeant sighed, nodding, and helped his friend out of the infirmary.

Taking a few tentative steps, Siler turned to Martin and raised an eyebrow. "You know, if we're going to go anywhere near the gate room we really need to get you some fatigues first!"

Martin blushed, pulling the open ends of his hospital gown together swiftly.

* * *

Walking through the halls of the SGC was surreal. Corridors, rooms, people. It was fictional. But it was right here, in front of him; a **real** world. He could hear snatches of conversation as other characters, he shook his head, _people_, walked by him. What was even more bizarre was the fact people kept smiling and saying hello. Extras he barely recognised, other more regular background artists he was quite friendly with, _even Colin Cunningham_, or Major Davies as she probably should say.

They would nod and smile, murmuring "Major" as he walked by. He shook his head, his heart pounding as he tried to take it in, to accept it. Martin was an open-minded man, but this was a little much, even for him. They approached the Gate room; the hubbub of activity increased and excitement began to course through his veins. He hummed, trying to contain it.

_A Gate, a real Gate!_ If this world was real. It seemed real enough. He shook his head, trying to stay focused, drinking in as much of this surreal, make-believe situation as possible.

Siler stopped abruptly, and Martin walked into him. Muttering an apology, he waited as the technical sergeant nonchalantly used his base card on the Gate room door. Even Martin's toes hummed with excitement. The huge blast door opened with a familiar noise, the sound effect they usually added in post, and Martin breathed deeply.

Siler held out his arm, a little perplexed by his usually chatty friend's silence. "After you."

* * *

They were welding. Or at least, Martin was pretending to. Having never welded anything in his life, he graciously offered to hold the stepladder for Siler, looking around nervously as if daring anyone to ask him what he was doing. The Gate room was everything he had ever dreamed of. And by now he figured he must be dreaming. It did not, however, make the step ladder or the situation feel any less realistic. Something he had discovered to his discomfort earlier when he had had an unfortunate disagreement with Siler's large spanner.

"Wood!" The owner of the aforementioned spanner was leaning down to look at him, his welding helmet pushed back. "Pass me that box-end wrench would you?"

Martin obliged, handing the heavy object over before resuming tight control of the ladder, trying to appear helpful. Without being able to stop it, however, his attention wandered. Eyes straying on the control room, Martin noticed a certain blonde head bobbing up and down. He could only assume she was typing and – _nodding?_ – at the same time.

Suddenly Amanda, or Colonel Carter as he supposed he should call her, leaned over the desk to catch an errant piece of paper. She caught his eye and smiled, raising a hand slightly in greeting. Martin couldn't help but smile in response, despite the weirdness of the situation. He missed her sudden, alarmed frown as he glanced upwards.

Siler, 'Dan', was engrossed in hammering something he could barely see and Martin turned his attention back to the control room. Another head had joined Carter's. This one was topped with silver hair and a tanned brow. O'Neill stood up, glancing around the room furtively before leaning to whisper something in Carter's ear. She clearly suppressed a giggle, looking over her shoulder, and he grinned, jerking his head in an ironic salute before promptly turning on his heel to march upstairs.

The smile remained on Sam's face for a long time as an odd realisation began to dawn on Martin.

"You know, I'm beginning to think you're more accident-prone than I am!"

Martin blinked, his thoughts broken. "What?"

"I said, I think you're more accident-prone than I am!" Dan grunted as he pushed down with his spanner.

Martin grinned. "Seriously Da-, Siler, that's _not_ possible." He glanced back up at the control room. "What's Maj-, Colonel Carter working on today?"

Siler laughed. "You expect me to know?! It's some advanced gate diagnostic thing she's drawn up with Walter. Don't really understand it myself." He stopped, following his friends gaze. Raising an eyebrow, Siler tapped on Martin's shoulder.

"Don't even think about it Wood, Colonel Carter is way out of your league, besides she's taken."

Martin glared at his friend indignantly; Amanda was more like a sister, "I _wasn't_ thinking about that! I was just…thinking."

"Right." Siler resumed tightening bolts.

Curiosity soon overcame Martin's embarrassment, and the return of his thundering headache. "So, she's taken?"

Siler smiled, continuing to work. "Yeah. Some cop or something. Lives in Denver. Book only gives it another couple of months before it peters out though."

"The 'Book'?" Siler did a double take, a blush rising through his cheeks as he attempted to stammer out some kind of explanation.

Apparently life at the SGC wasn't quite as exciting as the writers had depicted. Day-to-day happenings around the base didn't much interest the viewing audience, Martin supposed, so it often happened that SGC personnel were left to their own somewhat mischievous devices when the 'blanks' needed to be filled in. Not one member of the base took their position lightly; they simply needed a way to blow off steam, and aiming said steam at their respected co-workers seemed to Martin to be a common, and amusing, pastime.

He cut off Siler's spiel, raising his hand to a still-thudding head. Ideally Martin should still have been in bed. But not, he told himself vehemently, when there was a whole world of imagination crossed with reality at his fingertips. Dimly, he realised Siler was talking. He ignored whatever the sprightly tech sergeant had said, raising his brows.

"So why haven't I heard about this book before?"

"To be honest Major," Siler gulped, using his rank for the first time, "we weren't sure who to trust with it, so we've kept it as far down the 'managerial ladder' as possible, so to speak."

Martin rolled his eyes. "I suppose it was a 'mistake' you ever mentioning it?" Siler nodded grimly, turning back to work with as much concentration as he could muster.

Before too long, however, Martin's curiosity was piqued and he attempted to feign indifference. So this 'Book', it only gives Carter and Pe- the cop- a couple of months?"

Siler froze, looking around to check no one was listening.

"We really shouldn't be talking about it Major," he hissed, glancing up to the Control Room cautiously.

Martin rolled his eyes again, "Don't be ridiculous. This is me! Who am I gonna tell, really?" He stared his friend in the eye, willing the bluff to work. He had no idea really how friendly his on-screen character and Siler were; when he'd made up the part it was more to get himself a cameo than anything else.

The bluff paid off as Siler leaned down again, unable to resist the juicy base gossip.

"Word is he followed her on the one of the SG-1 missions before that stuff with Anubis. You know, when Osiris was knocking around." Martin raised an eyebrow at the apparently blasé sergeant. Siler ignored it, or failed to notice. "He stalked her, or as good as. He was injured; on the base for a bit. Man," he whistled, "you did _not_ wanna cross O'Neill's path those few days!"

Martin frowned, "O'Neill?"

There was a significant pause as the other man clearly tried to work out whether or not to go any further. Martin suddenly remembered his rank.

"Look, Siler, I'm not going to reprimand you. I wanna know that's all."

Siler nodded covertly, apparently deciding to run with it. Glancing around stealthily, as if expecting the offending General to pop up at any moment, he whispered.

"Yeah! The cop really pissed him off, hanging around and getting himself part of a top secret mission." _One you apparently know a hell of a lot about_, thought Martin wryly. Siler had carried on talking.

"-those melons! Just wasn't the same for days afterwards." He shook his head. "Anyway, you know how he is about her." His smiling eyes strayed up to the blonde Colonel now standing over Walter's shoulder, scrutinising his work. Martin followed his gaze; finding this in-depth character discussion fascinating. It was so rare to find a 'shipper' in sci-fi creators; a person that really cared like Martin himself did about the personal and romantic relationships of the characters, that finding one in the Chief Technical Sergeant, notorious for his surly manner and lack of humour, was quite bizarre.

Suddenly, shrieking filled his ears and Martin clapped his hands over them, putting so much pressure on his ears he felt his head might explode. The noise was deafening; a thousand clamouring voices of different volume and pitch joined the screamer, splitting his head in agony. Unable to take the pain, Martin dropped to his knees, barely noticing as Siler called a medical emergency.

Two pairs of hands dragged him carefully by the armpits. He had a strange floating sensation. Then once again, familiarly now, everything went black.

**TBC**

* * *

**A/N –** Martin's open hospital gown is expressly dedicated, once again, to Jumble and the Woohoos on the Martin thread. Enjoy thunking that bum girls!

Please drop a review, all comments (and donations!) extremely welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

**Previously**

_Suddenly, shrieking filled his ears and Martin clapped his hands over them, putting so much pressure on his ears he felt his head might explode. The noise was deafening; a thousand clamouring voices of different volume and pitch joined the screamer, splitting his head in agony. Unable to take the pain, Martin dropped to his knees, barely noticing as Siler called a medical emergency. _

_Two pairs of hands dragged him carefully by the armpits. He had a strange floating sensation. Then once again, familiarly now, everything went black._

**Chapter Three**

Raising her hand to knock on the door in front of her, Sam hesitated as she noticed the plaque. She smiled, brushing across his recently engraved name with fingers that trembled. It had only been a couple of months since he was trapped; left in stasis in the Antarctic outpost. Abandoned. Or as good as. And now he'd been promoted to General, commander of the SGC. She was happy for him, but she couldn't help feeling it was another step away from the team; from her.

Coughing slightly, the guard outside his door shifted and as Sam turned to look at him, a knowing smile rushed from his eyes. Feeling a blush rise up her face she knocked hastily. Hearing his lazy, "Yeah," she rushed in, eager to retreat from knowing looks and their potential consequences.

He looked up from a desk covered in paper, pens and some ornaments. The room definitely had the sense of organised chaos to it, and Sam noted, with some amusement, the increasingly indignant assistant at the cabinet behind him. He smiled, catching her eye for a little longer than he should have, and had the grace to chuckle lightly.

_Something was funny?_ "Hot out there, Carter?" She stared at him blankly until he waved a hand in front of his amused face.

Realisation dawning in her eyes, she rolled them. "Funny." Belatedly she added the "Sir". The aide de camp frowned behind her glasses. Hiding a grin, Jack motioned for the woman to leave. She gathered up a box and hastily left the office. Jack put his pen down, leaning back in the large chair and motioning for her to sit. Sam smiled tightly, looking around for some employment for her hands.

"Something I can do for you, Carter?"

"Yes, Sir. The Gate diagnostic review is nearly finished. I'll have a full report ready and on your desk tomorrow morning."

Jack paused. "Great!" He sounded falsely bright.

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, awkward in each other's company. For all Sam knew he didn't remember the painful conversation they had had just a few short weeks ago at his home whilst the knowledge of the Ancients re-wrote everything in his mind. Nor the follow-up she had attempted in the Alkesh engine room.

It was difficult not to think about these moments as she stared into his chocolate brown eyes.

"Was there something else, Carter?" His question snapped her back to the present and she felt the blush rising in her cheeks again. Still, back to business.

"Yes Sir. I, uh, saw Major Wood before." She paused, "In the Gate room."

He nodded. She seemed to expect him to say something. "Right…" Jack drew the word out, clearly rather confused.

"Look, Sir. Something was 'off'."

He raised an eyebrow, "'Off'?"

"When he looked at me, I mean. I could…feel him."

The second eyebrow joined the first.

"I mean…God this is all coming out wrong. It wasn't threatening Sir, it was more of a…presence."

Jack remained silent, hearing her out.

"I know it's odd, Sir, but I just think we need to keep an eye on him."

"It was just an electric shock, Carter."

"Yeah, a bad one! And," she stopped, sighing, "and it was my fault. I asked him to review the rig. I feel guilty!"

Jack leaned forward, frowning. "Carter, what happened to Wood wasn't your fault."

"But-"

"But 'nothing', Carter. I don't want to hear it. It was an accident. I'm just amazed it didn't happen to Siler."

She looked despondent and he sighed.

"Look, I've been around long enough to know I should take you seriously when you've got a hunch. If it makes you feel better, I'll keep an eye on Wood."

She smiled, recognising the dismissal when she heard it. Turning, she made her way to the door.

"Carter!" She turned back to him. His face was aimed at the desk. She frowned slightly, choosing to say nothing.

"On the ship, a few weeks ago, when I told you I knew what you wanted to say…" he paused, struggling with the words. Suddenly he raised his head, looking deeply into her eyes. Her breath caught in her chest. "I just wanted you to know, I…I didn't forget. I _won't_ forget."

Sam swallowed, unexpected tears pricking her eyes.

"Thank you Sir." Turning again she left the room.

He didn't move for a long time.

* * *

Martin woke this time in complete silence. At least, there were no hushed voices, but there was a steady _thud, thud_ against his leg.

He opened his eyes tiredly, wishing his mountainous headache would just go away. It didn't.

He wasn't alone in the room and as his guest shifted, coming into focus, Martin realised it was Rick; General O'Neill. He raised his head slightly. Jack looked over at him. He held a small yellow yo-yo in his hands.

"General," Martin smiled.

"Major, glad to see you're awake. How're you doin'?"

Martin shifted. "Still got the headache. Sir," he added with an afterthought," but generally, I'm ok."

"Do you remember what happened?"

Martin frowned, "Sort of. I remember being with Sergeant Siler in the Gate room. We were making some repairs to the Gate. And then," he closed his eyes, "then nothing."

"You collapsed." Jack wound the string around his fingers. "You don't remember anything just prior to that?"

"No, Sir…I…" Martin stopped, his breath hitching in his chest. Screaming. He remembered screaming. And thousands of voices clamouring to be heard.

"Major Wood?" Jack was saying.

Martin blinked. "It's nothing, Sir. Really. I think I could be discharged now."

Jack laughed. "Well the good Doctor will be the judge of that, Major. Glad to see you're feeling better. And…normal." He rose with a smile, tucking the yo-yo back into his pocket and making his way to the door.

_Better go tell Carter. He's fine. Little bump to the noggin' would knock anyone for six. It's the guilt she's feeling. __Damn fine officer. Damn fine ass too. Shit! Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts…uhh…Bra'tac naked, Bra'tac naked, Bra'tac naked. Aaaah…that's better._

Jack sighed loudly and Martin let out a strangled cough. "Ri-, I mean, Sir, did you, um, just say…something?"

O'Neill froze, eyes glancing from side to side in panic. His gaze snapped to Martin who was trying, and failing, to suppress his mirth.

"No. Why? What did you hear?" Rapid questions fired from Jack's mouth. _Please god, tell me I wasn't thinking out loud._

Immediately Martin stopped laughing and started forward in the bed. O'Neill was facing him, and his lips hadn't moved once. He swallowed.

"Never mind, um, Sir. No, I don't think I did hear anything." Jack closed his eyes briefly as Martin stared at him in disbelief; the General's thoughts sounding in his ears like he was listening to the radio.

Jack drew himself up, "As you were then, Major," and stalked from the room.

_Thank God. __Now, Carter's six…Shit! Stop it Jack! Think something else, anything else! _Martin watched, agog, as O'Neill beat a hasty retreat from the infirmary.

Lying back on the pillows he tried to connect events together. He remembered a feeling of pain and panic when he'd been in the studio. He thought he remembered tripping, although that was so hazy it could have been part of this dream. Or what he was regarding as a dream. He'd collapsed whilst he and Siler had been discussing some 'Book'. Something the personnel used around here for fun on quiet days. And now apparently he could hear people's thoughts.

Or maybe just a few people's thoughts in particular.

Considering this, Martin called a nurse over to ask for some water. He asked her when she thought he might be discharged and listened, hard. Nothing. He couldn't hear a word.

As the nurse moved off, Martin smiled slowly. This could be _very_ interesting.

* * *

Rounding the corner to Carter's lab, Martin wondered if this was a bad idea. No, an order was an order, apparently, when issued by the Lieutenant Colonel he was going to work with. Besides, if it was a dream, how much did it really matter? One of Teal'c's lines from early on in the show echoed in his mind, "Which reality is really real?"

He found her sitting in silence, her chin resting on folded arms. She hadn't noticed his approach so he waited, leaning on the door frame, watching her as she stared mindlessly at the complicated object in front of her. Closing his eyes against the now constant roar of his head, Martin listened. Surely enough, after a few moments he could hear her thoughts.

_There's no way. It's not possible__. Even if I wanted it. Which I don't. I mean, there's Pete now. And anyway, he doesn't care about me like that. Friends, good friends. That's enough. _

She sighed loudly, and he could barely comprehend the flood of emotion that nearly overwhelmed him. Love. And fear. And passion, pain, joy, agonising desire; all at once. He didn't see how she could deal with it on a day-to-day basis. Shocked as he was by what he was hearing, it was nothing compared to the depth of emotion expressed in Sam's eyes. He'd always thought Amanda played that part brilliantly; sad but detached and totally in character. But apparently, the 'character' thought differently.

Coughing loudly, Martin stepped forward. She looked up, startled, wiping a dry eye quickly.

"Major," she smiled, "glad to see you're feeling better."

Martin smiled in response. "Thanks. What is it you wanted help with?"

She pointed to the object in front of her. "It's a module we recovered from the Antarctic outpost. I just want to run a few electro-magnectic output tests. General O'Neill," she paused and he had the strange sensation of hearing her own heartbeat through her ears, "and I figured you'd be a tad more comfortable down here than up in the Gate room!" Her eyes twinkled, inviting him to share in the joke.

They settled into a comfortable silence; Martin picking up on what she expected him to do surprisingly easy. He stole glances at her, hearing snatches of her thoughts. But it was like the radio was tuning out sporadically. Occasionally, Martin filled up with the painful emotions that weren't his own.

Biting his lip, Martin was filled with an odd realisation. _Perhaps this is it; perhaps this is the way to end Season Eight. I don't think any of us ever realised how deep this ran. But if this is a dream?_

Suddenly he blinked, his fingers halting their movement. _That's it! It's like Sam in 'Grace'! It's me talking to…me!_

"So, Colonel Carter," he began uncertainly, "I never…I never congratulated you on the…promotion. Congratulations!"

She smiled, and he was rewarded with a flood of happiness and images of General O'Neill's proud smile as he saluted her, murmuring quietly, _"Lieutenant Colonel Carter". _

In that moment Martin was decided. He knew she loved him, couldn't question it or understand it, but he knew. He knew he'd never hear her say it either, knew it was too painful for either of them to contemplate it. And with all his heart he knew the perfect way to end Season Eight.

The room began to swirl and spin as he lost his grip on her reality. Martin closed his eyes for what he thought would be the final time, and let go.

* * *

He could smell coffee and burning. His head throbbed and his eyes swam as he opened them groggily.

Briefly, Martin heard a gasp and a shout, "He's awake! Easy Martin, I've got you!" He felt two strong pairs of hands under his head and shoulders as he was lifted. Raising one of his own hands to his forehead he felt the tacky sting of drying blood. Breathing deeply, he focused on the voices around him, supposing he was back in the infirmary.

"Martin? Martin, can you hear me?"

He frowned. That voice. It was so familiar. Not a character's voice. He fought to open his eyes again, taking a moment to recognise a familiar face.

Smiling widely, Martin laughed, relieved. "Brad!"

His friend looked down at him worriedly. "Martin, what happened? We just called an ambulance!"

The young director looked around, noting Rick and Amanda, Torri and Dan were there. In civvies. He shook his head; out of costume. The floor felt marvellously real under his back as Dan, Rick and Brad helped him up, protesting that he should wait for the paramedics. He shook his head, ignoring the tumultuous headache. Apparently he was able to withstand even the most painful headaches now.

He laughed, his smile reaching deep into his eyes and infecting the others as he clasped Brad's shoulder.

"It's all in the fishing Brad." He sighed.

"I have the perfect way to end Season Eight."

* * *

**A/N -** Thanks for reading folks, I hope you enjoyed this random take on the S/J relationship. If you'd like to appreciate the delectable Martin Wood in the company of others, feel free to join us over on the Martin Woohood Stock Thread at Gateworld DOT net.

Please, leave a review, and let a tired writer know you still care. Even after this complete bastardisation of fanfiction.


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